


Some Devil

by ObliObla



Series: Lucifer Songfics [4]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Vulnerability Theory, Character Study, Dark, F/M, Heavy Angst, I don't break anything I don't fix, Post-Season/Series 03, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Songfic, Suicide, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 19:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16352420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: “It’s all true, you’re… you killed Pierce.”“I… I had to! He was going to—”“You’re a monster!”





	Some Devil

**Author's Note:**

> One last kiss, one only  
> Then I'll let you go  
> Hard for you I've fallen  
> But you can't break my fall  
> I'm broken, don't break me  
> When I hit the ground  
> Some devil, some angel  
> Has got me to the bones
> 
> Too drunk and still drinking  
> It's just the way I feel  
> "It's alright," is what you told me  
> Cause what we had was so beautiful  
> Feel heavy, like floating  
> At the bottom of the sea
> 
> Some devil is stuck inside of me  
> Why can't I set it free  
> I wish I was dead and you were grieving  
> Just so that you could know  
> Some angel is stuck inside of me  
> I cannot set you free
> 
> You said always and forever  
> Now I believe you baby  
> You said always and forever  
> Is such a long and lonely time  
> -Dave Matthews-
> 
> Trigger warnings for: self-harm/suicide, non-sexual whipping

His throat was tight in a way that no amount of scotch could burn away. Even though betrayal was as familiar as the flayed flesh that stared back at him from the shining surface of the bar, he’d forgotten how deep its bitterness could tear; nothing else felt quite so much like falling. Its familiarity wrapped around him, smothering but warm; so warm he could drown in it. And maybe—he threw back the contents of the glass, poured another—maybe he would this time. There was nothing left to keep him here, after all.

_You’re not the Devil; not to me._

He laughed, harsh and cold; the sound echoed through the penthouse. It was too quiet, too empty; he’d never been good with silence. Raging against the dying of the light had always been more his bag. He was light and fire, will and desire; he did not _pine_ after anyone, let alone a wholly unremarkable mortal woman.

_Not to me._

Damn her— _no, never damn her; he’d never let Hell touch her_ —why did this all have to be so _complicated_? He drained his glass, pulling another bottle out from under the bar. Why did he have to care _so_ _bloody_ _much_? How dare she make him feel like this; how _dare_ she…

He shook his head; none of this was her fault, it was his and his alone. Damn his emotional growth; it was so much easier before. Before. When he was alone, rotting in Hell. He threw his glass across the room, eyes ignited in flame. He slammed his hand down on the bar; cracks spread out unevenly from the crater caused by his fist. His pale, human-like fist. He marveled at it, pulling his hand from the marble. He hadn’t been able to hide his other face since… _since._ But now his… his hand was bleeding.

_His hand was bleeding._

He jumped to his feet, wings aching even from where they lay, hidden in the metaphysical plane, as he stumbled to the lift. He watched the little numbers flick upward 2…3…4. _She_ was here; she was _here_. The elevator dinged; the doors slid open, revealing… some random human he’d never seen before, “So, my friend said you were a great f—hey, are you ok?” He slammed his bloodied hand against the button; the doors closed. He fell, hard, to his knees; something cracked painfully. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t here, but he was still vulnerable, which meant…

_We make our own choices; we control our own fate._

The laughter barely sounded human now; it shook his chest as it forced itself from his lips. _She_ had never made him vulnerable; he’d done it to himself. And now, well, he had never felt so breakable. And as he saw himself, so he became. No one to blame but himself; never anyone to blame but himself.

_Aberration, mistake; flawed, twisted, broken creature._

His Father had been right; _Cain_ had been right. He was nothing but a monster; he couldn’t help but destroy everything he touched. She deserved better. She _deserved_ a life free from him. They all did. And all he had to do was go back. It had been merciful, really, that his Father had sent him away, into the darkness; there was nothing innocent there, nothing for him to defile with his corruption. He made to manifest his wings, but they refused to appear. He tried again, rising unsteadily to his feet; nothing. O _f course_ ; he knew now he wasn’t worthy of their grace. _Fine_. If he couldn’t be an angel, at least he could be the devil. He forced his flesh to fall away, made the fire in his eyes rise; nothing. _Again._

_I deserve neither fear nor love. I deserve nothing. And as I see myself, so shall I become._

He collapsed fully against the ground, letting the tears that had been threatening for hours fall freely. What did he know of _shame_? Only _people_ knew of such things and he was nothing but a base, vile _thing_. He was just an example of what happened when you tried to defy God; he was never meant to frighten them with his presence, his _power_ , as if he’d ever truly had any. No, he was simply proof that you couldn’t beat Him. He wasn’t God’s torturer, he was His whipping boy.

Well, if that’s who he was to be, he might as well make a show of it. He dragged his uncooperative body across the floor, smearing a path of blood to his closet, filled with the specimens of his sinful pride. He yanked a drawer open, drawing out a rope lash, trailing seven heavy cords. He ripped off his shirt and suit jacket, pulling himself up to kneel.

Bless his celestial strength, his mortal frailty; the metal tipped ropes cut deep as he struck hard and true, strokes tearing against where scars had lain when he’d still believed that rebellion was possible, that he’d ever truly defied anything but his own inherent nature. He had been cold, pressed against the hard marble floor, but the blood that flowed down his back warmed him to what remained of his raw, rent soul. “I accept responsibility. Please, Dad,” he choked out through wrenching sobs. “ _Please_. Let me go back to Hell. I’ll be everything you ever wanted me to be, no loopholes this time. I can’t…” his voice cracked, “I can’t take any more of this…” His limbs gave out; he toppled to the ground, splayed in desperate supplication. There was no response, not that he’d expected any. He didn’t deserve such mercy.

His back was more wound than flesh now, but the pain still wasn’t enough to match the ache in his soul. If no one would send him to Hell, he’d just have to do it himself. A scream tore from his lips as he raised himself up to stand. He gritted his teeth; what was this agony to the torment of the Fall? He started searching the room; he didn’t have his Pentecostal coin anymore, but he didn’t need _that_ to get to Hell. Not anymore. His hand caught on the handle of a knife; he grinned, half-mad. It was ordinary metal, not demon steel, but it hardly mattered. This may be the more ignoble way to hell, but he didn’t deserve the high road, did he? He didn’t deserve _rule_ ; it was no great tragedy that he would be denied it.

There was no pain as the blade embedded itself in his chest, only an almost pleasant chill and a deep, all-consuming sense of _relief_. It was finally, _finally_ out of his hands. Death’s embrace was kind and welcoming.

*   *   *

“It’s all true.”

“Detective?”

She stumbled backward, falling to the stone stairs, “It’s all true, you’re… you killed Pierce.”

“I… I had to! He was going to—”

“You’re a monster!”

“No, I…” but before he could try to explain, she scrambled to her feet, turned and ran; her steps echoed in the silence. He crouched, running his fingers through his hair. His gaze caught on his reflection in the shining marble floor. Raw flesh and burning eyes stared back at him, blinking in confusion and sudden, horrified shock. He stood, reeling. Sirens echoed in the distance. He couldn’t be here; he couldn’t…

Bloodied wings erupted from his back. He took flight, suppressing a pained cry. The bullets burned as he flew unsteadily over the city, nearly crash landing on his balcony, covering the marble in blood and feathers. And there, sitting in front of him, was Chloe, caressing the handle of his whip. She stood, smiling sadistically; her tone was soft and almost sweet, “You’re a monster.” She ran her fingers through the leather thongs of the lash.

He knelt before her, bowing his head, “I accept my punishment.”

She scoffed, “You masochist. I’m not gonna hurt _you_.” She flung the whip over her shoulder, cutting into the fabric of her jacket. She gasped in pain. He tried to pull it from her hand, but was suddenly restrained, wrists bound to the floor by adamantine chains. She hit herself again with the lash, crying out. “This is your fault,” she panted through sobs as she struck.

_Three, four, five_ …

He pulled at the cuffs around his wrists, but couldn’t break them. Her face twisted in anguish, “Please stop hurting me, Lucifer; _please_ …”

_Six, seven…_

“I… I’m _not_ —”

“Oh, aren’t you?” and it was _his_ voice, _his_ face grinning viciously back at him from behind Chloe as he ripped into her, whip in hand, blood splattered across his face. She screamed, falling to the floor, but the other Lucifer never stopped, lash cutting deeper and deeper. This was no illusion, no mirage; hadn’t he been on the dispensing end of that whip thousands of times, millions, even? And not because his victims deserved punishment. No, he’d done it because he _wanted_ to. He thought he’d made his peace with that, but now it had hurt Chloe. He couldn’t abide that; he wouldn’t…

“She will _never_ love you,” not-Chloe smirked at him, rising to her feet. “If you return to Earth, you will watch from afar as she ages and dies,” she shrugged, “Wouldn’t it be easier to just stay here, with me?” She stroked his cheek; her hand was warm and comforting, and she smelled as sweet as she always did. He could make himself believe this was real; he’d deceived himself into worse things. But Chloe—the real Chloe… He’d already abandoned her once, he couldn’t do it again, even if she never wanted to see him again. That wasn’t the point. Love wasn’t about what you _got_ ; it was about what you _gave_. And for her, he would give… _anything_. She might order him back to Hell—and he would go, willingly—but he had to give her a choice this time.

“And how, exactly,” other-Lucifer leaned down to whisper in his ear, “do you think you’re going to escape? You’re no Devil, no angel. You’re _nothing_!”

“You’re right, I don’t know what I am, but,” he pulled himself up to stand, dragging the heavy chains with him, “I know that I’m _hers_ and honestly,” he yanked at his shackles, tearing them from the ground, “that’s plenty for me.” The door, he needed to find the door to get out of here, but there was nothing, just windows and railings and… _oh_. He laughed. He’d fallen into Hell; it was only fitting he fall _out_ of it. He approached the edge of the balcony—a violent maelstrom swirled where the street below should be—stepped onto the railing, and jumped into the fire and the chaos, the chorus of no’s behind him lovelier than Heaven’s most glorious choir.

*   *   *

He was cold, almost freezing against the hard ground, but his stomach was warm and strangely… wet? He blinked his eyes open; he was on the floor in his kitchen while a blonde-haired head sobbed quietly against his ribs. He could taste nothing but blood and ash, but the scent he caught was sweet and achingly familiar. He licked his dry lips, tried to clear his throat, “Chl… Chloe?”

She shot up, eyes wide; her face was smeared with his blood, “You… _no_ …” She scrambled off him, turned away and pressed her palms into her eyes, “Oh God, I’m losing my mind.”

He sat up—his back didn’t hurt anymore; _strange_ —and pressed a hesitant, calming hand between her shoulder blades, “I… I’m alright, darling.”

She flinched, turning back to him, “You were… _dead_.”

“Yes.”

“You killed yourself,” it was half question, half accusation.

“I… yes.”

“ _Why_?”

“I… you…” he stuttered, “you ran away and I… I thought there was nothing left here, for me.” His head dropped, suddenly exhausted. “I wanted to be punished, but I realized, in Hell,” he caught her eye, “I couldn’t abandon you again. If you want me to go, I will, but I…” He shook his head, “I couldn’t leave like that.”

She took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly, “After I… _ran_ , I ended up on some random street… I don’t even know. I didn’t know where I was; I didn’t know where _you_ were. I… I got a cab here, didn’t know where else to go. You were… _covered_ in blood and there was a…” She pawed at his chest in disbelief; the wound was gone, healed over to smooth flesh. The knife—his chef’s knife, apparently—was sitting several feet away where she must’ve thrown it after… yanking it out of his heart.

He caught her hand, “I’m so sorry, darling. I—”

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” she sniffled, pressing closer to him, “I called you a…”

“Monster? But I am one,” he sighed, “I killed Cain.”

“He tried to kill us.”

“Yes, but that’s not why I sent him to Hell. I… hated him. I _wanted_ him dead.” He stood, walking to the window; the light of the midday sun was so bright and he didn’t deserve any of it.

“Well,” she came up from behind him, “I tried to kill him. _I_ wanted him dead. So I guess _I’m_ a monster too, then.”

“ _No_ ,” he spun around. “Never, you… _oh_ ,” she raised an eyebrow; he chuckled bitterly, “that was rather… _devious_ of you.”

She smirked, “I learned from the best.”

He blinked at her, “So you’re… ok?”

“Oh, no,” she shook her head, “I’m gonna be _awful_ when all of this catches up to me. But, right now…” She shrugged, “Could be worse. Would you… promise me something, though?” He nodded. She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks, “I… I don’t think I could handle it if you… _left_.”

He took her hand, kissing it, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” she looked up at him, fingers tightening around his.

“I swear it.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh... this happened.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr (obliobla) if you want, and feel free to offer song suggestions if you're interested!
> 
> I hope you liked this sad little fic


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